#it's so obvious that another 'gotcha' moment is in the works

[kurosin]

I finally rubbed my two braincells together and cooked up the will to FINALLY catch up with BSD and I have so much I want to say and speculate on lmao. That was a whirlwind of shit ngl

[lai-mar]

I think. For me L+M is another example of a male+female pairing that seems a little too straightforward to ship in canon and hence some fans view it as “boring” and “low hanging fruit”, and as a result the ship is less popular despite having canon crumbs that you can interpret in a shippy way. So the ship being low hanging fruit turns around? In canon they have a strong friendship and lots of moments, and that’s what I like them as, friends (and they are canonically friends). Shipping these “straightforward straight pairings” can be a bit squicky (because I tend to think they are more interesting nonromantically) but it turns out in the end I will blatantly blaze through my squicks because I am desperate for content. And also because shippers actually care about them and their bond.

However, for these pairings people SOMEHOW usually impose a familial interpretation (siblings, in-laws) even though they are not related in canon either by blood or marriage. It’s more acceptable in DM because F/M certainly gets a lot of crumbs but it also kinda makes me salty to see people reduce L+M to being in laws only, like their only connection is through Falin, and that is just plain wrong. I have seen so many male+female pairings that get stuck in the fanon “sibling-coded” area and it’s like… guys it’s okay to not like them as a ship and not make them siblings. Guys. Not every kind of love has to be romantic or familial. I think sibling coding is fun and all that but sometimes it does feel like a “gotcha! I totally do not ship them because they’re like SIBLINGS to me and if you ship them you’re WEIRD”.

L+M would still be funny if it’s the fanon “lesbian elf teams up with her gf’s autistic brother and they squabble but work together to save the day” but canon L+M just drives me crazy because they obviously develop a bond outside of the other people they love, and they’ve basically known each other for two years only which is short even for a tallman lifespan, let alone Marcille’s. Actually I think what really gets me about L+M is that every time they get a moment that can be interpreted as shippy (eg. succubus, M wearing the dress in the Golden Country, even M knitting in the room with L in the Kensuke extra just like her mom used to do with her dad), there might be a few blushes and nervousness, but they quickly return to the status quo of being comfortable and physically affectionate with each other. Which you can interpret them as not seeing each other romantically, in deep denial, or they’re just so comfortable with each other that they don’t need to define their relationship, they just are.

Tbh the widespread DM fanon did mislead me a bunch, I thought we would get obvious F/M shipping or even confirmation after the bath scene but nope. I thought L+M would kinda stay the way they were pre Ep 11 and have a fun back and forth bit noooo they had to go and save each other and learn about each other’s deepest desires. I was shocked that they weren’t being discussed on such a widespread level considering how much screentime and importance they both get. Saw someone say “the romance between F/M is the catalyst and main plot driver” and I want to bang my head against the wall. DM has ship crumbs for a ton of ships but nothing has ever been confirmed canon and I’m happier because of it and it’s fun to explore.

I would say L+M needs better PR but honestly just read the manga, it does all the PR lmao. I can forgive anime onlies but if you read the manga you surely cannot ignore the elephant in the room.

[b0ther]

baby, no attachment

toji has nothing to do on a friday night.

pairing : fushiguro toji x reader (feminine pronouns. afab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : short one-shot???? bro idk tags : deadbeat situationship toji, vaginal fingering, a bit of dubcon, the usage of the word “baby” and “sweetheart” word count : 870

author's note : title from 'casual' by chappell roan. idk what this is it's just hot... also send requests and i'll see what i can do cuz i'm stuck doing this commission and i need a breather lmfao. toji is so obviously an ass dude it's almost painful to me.

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

Your not-boyfriend boyfriend who somehow always ends up spending the weekend in your apartment, bending you over in ways you never thought was possible is there once again on your queen size bed, one hand on the back of your thigh as you type away on your laptop, revising some stupid report due at midnight.

Swinging your legs, you tune out the sound of obnoxious ads playing from the television—and everything is going well until you feel Toji squeezing your flesh, rubbing the skin of your thigh up and down, occasionally tugging on the hem of your shorts.

“Don’t you have a fucking job to go to?” You say, irritated, propping your upper body to look back at him.

Toji shrugs, his hand behind his head against the wall. “No,” he continues massaging the inner part of your thigh, “Besides, it’s a Friday night. What kinda dork works on a Friday night?”

You slant your eyes, knowing damn well that he is probing on your buttons the same way his fingers are trying to probe on your clenching opening. You huff. He’s too easy to read—you can smell his excitement from where you are lying on your stomach.

“Not my fault Masuda’s a greedy bitch,” you mutter, turning your torso around once again, ignoring the obvious hardening bulge under his pants.

“Mhm,” Toji says in a concurring tone, despite not knowing your boss at all. He continues his touch, kneading on your thigh before slipping his hand under the loose opening of your shorts, his wide fingers palming the entirety of your ass cheek. “See, that’s something Masuda and I have in common.”

“Right,” you close your eyes, burying your face in your hands for a moment, taking in a deep breath as to not give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan. “And I so totally would let Masuda bend me over in my free time.”

Toji lets out a low chuckle, his point finger circling the jiggly surface of your ass. “You seem like the type of girl to let an old man have his way with you like that.”

He tugs on the band of your panties before letting it go, letting the rubber sound ring through the room.

With your eyes shut, you tell yourself to calm down. But you end up jerking back to him a little, seeking the heat emitting from his electric touch.

“Ohh…” Toji breathes, shifting on his seat when his middle finger slips in between your ass cheeks and is immediately greeted with how wet you are.”Masuda gotcha this wet?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you groan, pressing your face harder on the mattress, raising your hips to ease his access, now ignoring the impending deadline before you.

His thick digit is lubed up with just your juice—he wastes no time in prodding around the opening of your cunt while massaging your lips before pushing one finger in. Just as good as you remember it: thick, rough, spreading you open with a sudden thrust as he shoves another finger in.

“Fuck—” You gasp, freeing your face from the bed sheets, damp from your slobber. “God, Toji—”

He only hums, curling the top of his two fingers inside of you, feeling the way your walls mould to the shape of his fingers. You can never fill yourself up the way he does with just his fingers—anything else you’ve slipped inside of your soaked cunt, any other cock can’t satisfy you the way he does.

As he tugs your shorts and panties aside, you can feel the cold air of the air conditioner hitting your sopping pussy lips. 

“Hurry,” you cry—urge—for him, wiggling your ass. “Finger my wet cunt with your fingers, fuck me haard—”

“Patient,” Toji grabs your ass cheek, squeezing before landing a sharp slap on its jiggly flesh. He slowly drags his fingers out, also taking his sweet, sweet time in pushing them back inside.

“I don’t have all night, Toji,” you hiss, and he chuckles.

“Well,” he lands another slap on you, “I do.”

He curls his fingers again as you open your mouth, ready to launch another string of curses at him, and your mind is suddenly filled yet again with fogs. You feel drowsy with his fingers inside of you, like he’s able to dumb you down with two fucking fingers.

“Fuuuck…” You push yourself off your position, sitting on your two knees.

“Hmm?” Toji tilts his head at your newly found position, adorning his stupid face with a look meant to be innocent.

You snake your arm around his head and pull him in for a kiss, sinking down on his fingers. 

“Ohh, shit,” you mutter against his chapped lips, pressing your forehead against each other. You bite your lips, lifting your body before slamming yourself down yet again on him. “My baby’s sooo big,” you quietly praise with a laugh under a sluggish smile.

“My baby’s sooo tight,” he chuckles, mocking the way your words slur.

You roll your hips, running your hand amongst the strands of his hair. “You better finish what you started, you asshole.”

Toji licks his lips, pressing a firm kiss upon your lips. “I’m gonna be workin’ hard tonight, sweetheart.”

[foundfamily-connoisseur]

Perhaps it's an odd question but since you speak the language you'd know a lot more than I do. Does Don Flamenco speak with any particular accent or dialect outside of just general 'Spanish?' I know a lot of languages vary heavily in terms of things like pronunciation and certain word usage. Main reason I ask is because I saw someone discuss elsewhere how despite speaking French that Glass Joe is very obviously voiced by a Francophone Canadian because of the pronunciation and accent. It's something that fascinated me since I don't know the language enough to be able to make that kind of distinction, and now I'm curious if any of the other foreign opponents have that kind of accent that's obvious to an actual speaker but would go over the head of someone who isn't fluent

Took me a bit and had to ask my mom for some input since she's more knowledgeable about dialects than I am.

For sure the biggest thing was the accent. First sentence in and the big thing about Castilian Spanish is how they pronounce their s and z sounds respectively.

Like the phrase "has visto hombre?" In Spain Spanish, there's a bit of a lisp (varies from how noticeable it is, I'd say moreso if you speak Spanish predominantly) that is sounds more like "hash vishto hombre?"

He doesn't speak a lot of varied words where pronunciation distinctions are made, like 'corazon'(which he'd have pronounced as 'corathon'), and I'm not good at explaining i fear 😔

I think aside from the accent, the gotcha moment is for sure "me has pillado!" That's is for sure exclusively Castilian Spanish, as i haven't heard anyone (both family as Mexicans and friends from Panama, Columbia, and Puerto Rico, and Peru) use that word.

Some things aren't exactly exclusively used in one country or another (and we start getting into my personal preference) but more of a "this works, but would probably use a different word instead":

"Has visto, hombre?" This could work for other forms of Spanish, but id probably change it to "has visto, güey?" For Mex Spanish.

"Me llamen Don, Don Flamenco" This also works but I find it so weird to say. I'd just change "llamen" to "dicen", although ma reports either works and comes down to personal preference.

So yeah he's very much a Spaniard if his looks weren't enough, but from what I've seen Don Flamencos va is from Spain and does a lot of Spain Spanish dubs, so they got him down pretty good.

Bonus: 'Don' is a Spanish Title and was usually reserved for nobility, but nowadays is more relaxed and used as a more polite title for someone you aren't exactly in familiar terms with, but are friendly/cordial nonetheless. It's sort of like an honorific similar to Sir or Mam, but used with the forename instead of the surname. I've seen it used more in Mexico(It's used more for older folks who can teeter onto the elderly, so it's funny that Don Flamenco uses it since he's only 23 lmao, but im probably looking at it in a more modern/Mexican American context)

Uhhh yeah I don't think I ended up making sense because it's very much a "he just is man. Listen to that. Lil Spaniard boy. Cmon say "Traición" i won't laugh i promise" but it's as clear as day he's Spanish lol

[whenthebirdsings]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader [no smut here but very explicit language. the full thing is also very horny. so mdni]

tags (for this chapter): terrible attempts at banter, very obvious hints of stalking, some dirty talk, fucking in public, sexual tension

word count: 4.1k

ch. 1 and 2

ch. 3

full ao3 fic

Somehow, coffee turned to a short drive in his car. Somehow, a short drive in his car turned to a shopping spree. It’s almost as though Satoru has you on a collar and leash, binding you to him and dragging you along on whatever whim. Not that you mind — especially when he pulls out his shiny credit card and pays for all of your expenses.

“Is this also just a thing with you?” you ask as you carry a few shopping bags. Thanking Satoru as he offers to take some off your hands. “Besides bending people to your will at the snap of your fingers, I mean.”

He blinks at you. “I also bend sluts over my lap, but you wouldn’t wanna know about that.” He pauses. Taking in your red face before tilting his lips into a sly grin. “Unless?”

You do your best to ignore that. Want puddling between your legs and warming flesh before you clear your throat. A roll of your eyes feigned exasperation to cover up your arousal. “I was just curious.”

Satoru snaps his fingers. For some reason, the sound shoots chills down the base of your spine. “So you do want a demonstration. Which works, because I’m more of a hands on type of guy —"

Blood pounds in your ears. Inappropriate thoughts sneaking into mind at an inappropriate time before you shake your head. Stamping them out. “That’s not what I meant.”

Another blink as he’s silent for a moment. Pretends to consider. “Ah, so hands aren’t enough for you. Gotcha.” He nods. As though he’d achieve eureka. Snorting out a loud laugh when you sputter. “Well, I’m also a tongue you ‘til you squirt type of guy and an everything, might-also-include-handcuffs-and-whips type of guy. If you want anyway. I’m just offering.”

You squint your eyes at him. Ignoring how the air simmers around you, how your skin teems with desire, prickling with the weight of his words. You swallow before making a retort. “Let me guess, as a friend?”

He grins. Playful. “As a friend, yes. In which case, as a friend, I think I also have the moral obligation to tell you that you look extremely breedable — I mean, fuckable — uh, I mean, adorable today.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest and it’s low and measured. You’re heady; legs suddenly feeling like they’re ready to give out as everything under you threatens to crumble. He’s been flirting with you all day and at this point you feel like you’re on the verge of combusting. He has to know — the effect he has on you when he looks that hot; he has to know. Has to be doing this on purpose.

Still, you play along. Voice curt if not for the laugh that slips out. “Ah, not the moral obligation. Whatever shall poor Satoru do?”

“I know. I’m at an impasse. I owe you so, so much,” he whines. Sunglasses dropping to the bridge of his nose. His gaze trailing to the sway of your hips. “Among other moral obligations.”

“You’re insufferable,” you huff. Embarrassed flush spreading from your cheeks to the tips of your ears now as you almost stagger in your steps. Would have fallen face first too, had it not been for Satoru hooking his arm around your waist at the nick of time. Pulling you up again, bracing you too firmly against him. So close you think you can hear his heartbeat — can feel his breath fanning at the little hairs on the back of your neck.

His eyes glint in lust before he blinks it away. Hand brushing up the curve of your hip, stopping just a little to hover over your ass. “Funny way to say delectable.”

You part your mouth, but all that ripples out is a startled gasp when he blows a column of breath against your ear. Hot and teasing as you feel his smile growing on your nape. His cologne filling your nose — something sweet and addictive that makes you ache for more. Makes you shiver and your eyes flutter. And you wonder, briefly, if you’d really hate it if he drags you somewhere isolated and breeds you stupid right then and there.

But then he lets go. And you’re almost disappointed from the loss of warmth. Your skin still tingling from where his fingers lingered.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you say accusingly. Smoothing down your skirt as you feel it hiking up your thigh. Hiding the flush there before Satoru could catch it or else he’d never let you live it down. But he laughs, and you think he’s already noticed.

“Yes, I do like treating people to stuff they like,” he answers even if you didn’t specify what you meant. Then again, it’s probably blatantly obvious — with the way you keep telling him no, only for him to brush you off and force you into shyly accepting his gifts. “Especially if they’re as pretty as you. What’s up with the I’m-tired-and-dead-inside look, anyway?”

“Oh, my god,” you sound. Palm dragging down your face as you retrieve your compact mirror from your purse. “Do I look that awful? Sorry, I’ve been working so many overtimes and having a lot of shit on my plate in general. I swear I touched up on my makeup earlier —”

He snaps the lid of your compact mirror shut before you could even open it. Fingers cupping over yours and feathering over your knuckles for only a second before he pushes the mirror back into your purse. Still, your breath hitches in your throat. Everything around you seemingly stuttering on its axis as you feel his thumb tracing the bone of your wrist before he fully pulls away. Gone. Out of your space and out of your grasp.

“You look fine,” he reassures you. Dismissing you with a wave and a scoff like you’re insane to think otherwise. “And by fine, I don’t mean ‘oh, cool, you’re okay, I guess’. By fine, I’d like to do things you wouldn’t want a coworker to do to you. By fine, you’re still drop dead gorgeous even with that expression on your face like you hate everything.” He tugs at the corners of your mouth then. Motioning them upwards into a smile. “I didn’t mean anything offensive. I’m just worried. You ran around a lot at the office.”

“Oh.” You blink. Lips twitching into an actual smile, into a laugh as his hand dips and his nails scrape along your slender neck. Soft and ticklish, teasing and seductive. Another shudder courses through you, but you suppress it. “I did, didn’t I? Yeah, work’s been fucking me left and right.”

He perks up at that. Faking a startled gasp. “So you do fuck coworkers? How scandalous!”

That elicits a strange reaction out of you. Something between a stuttering pant and an ugly snort laugh as you’re confused between lustful and amused.

“Again, you know that’s not what I meant,” you chastise him. Another giggle springing free as he pouts like he’s dismayed. Knowing him, he might be. “I swear you wouldn’t get so many passes if you weren’t so sexy. You make every conversation sexual, but somehow I’m not mad. Talk about pretty privilege.”

Satoru brushes past over everything you just said except for the part you complimented him on his looks. “So you think I’m sexy.”

You level him with a look. “Really?”

“What? I have an inflated ego! A pretty girl calls me sexy, and you expect me to be normal?” He raises his arms in defense. Breaking out into another laugh as you jokingly punch a fist at his shoulder again. Your hand lingering, pausing at his chest before you cough then reluctantly pull away.

“So you don’t deny you make everything sexual,” you say. Changing the subject before you cave into the urge to pounce on him and ride him to oblivion. Even if the idea is tempting.

But, no. That wouldn’t be very befitting of you. Especially so in public — though you have an inkling Satoru would be into that. He doesn’t hide anything; bounces from one topic to another with almost obnoxious sincerity you’re caught off guard. Maybe that’s why you’re so easily swept by his charms. He’s honest and you’re not, transparency while you withdraw into your shell. And, well, he has his good looks.

“No, I don’t,” he snorts. But you catch a glimpse of his mouth twitching.

You lift an eyebrow at that. “Uh-huh, and the sky is falling.”

“I really don’t. You make me sound like I have an ulterior motive to everything I do,” he says again, a little offended this time as he crosses his arms over his chest. You notice the way his shoulders flex, the way fabric stretches with his movements. Your eyes dipping to his collarbone, only slightly peeking from underneath his collar.

You avert your gaze before it can travel lower. “Yeah, sure. You expect me to believe that, Mr. Tongue A Girl ‘Til She Squirts?”

“Believe me,” Satoru whines. More daring than you as he spares an indulgent glance at the swell of your breasts. Eyes looking back and forth between you and the lace almost spilling out of a shopping bag. “I totally didn’t pick out outfits and buy them for you to wear so I can tear them off of you later. Totally.”

There’s a thud as you drop your bags to the floor. Apologizing to nosy onlookers before awkwardly reaching down to pick them up. Satoru laughs — a cocky upturn of his chin as he brazenly leers at your ass. You feel his gaze even with your face turned away, pinned underneath the heat in blue as your heart skips. Racing too fast for comfort.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” you mumble. Face burning hot from the intensity of his stare as he looks at you, steadfast and unblinking. “Sounds like a waste of money, by the way. I’m not worth that much.”

Satoru’s response is quick. Almost uncannily so. “Trust me. You’re worth that and more.” There’s a pause; an odd shift in his expression as something unreadable claws at his face. Sadness that sits foreign before it’s replaced with another grin. Gone so swiftly you wonder if it was even there. “Or, well, if you worry about it being a waste, we can always fuck in them. I can come on your clothes — or better yet, come underneath them so you can walk around carrying a part of me on your skin.”

You drop your bags again. This time, Satoru helps you pick them up. Smiling the entire time. Obviously satisfied with himself.

“Jesus, Satoru,” you breathe out. Surprise and want all at once as fire pools low in your abdomen. Why does he have to be so good at making your imagination run wild? “You need to stop talking like this in public. People are gonna look.”

“Or what? You gonna jump on me in public? Fuck me to the thought of people looking?” he laughs — and you almost whisper out a yes. Almost tug at his collar and pull him in for a kiss before you rein in the impulse at the last minute. Chest rising and falling in quick, heavy breaths. “It’s fine. People are oddly enough not that interested in others. I highly doubt anyone would notice unless you actually jump me and scream my name out loud.”

That sends a rush of excitement downwards and you clench around nothing. Your body quivering only briefly before you force it stiff. You’re studying your surroundings now — noting that people are, in fact, not that interested in others. They shrug past the both of you with ease, glued to their phones or to the friends around them.

“See?” Satoru grins. Taking all of your bags out of your hands this time.

“You don’t have to,” you say, sheepish. Reaching out to steal them back as guilt stabs at your chest.

He pulls them out of grabbing distance. Hiding them behind his back now as he stubbornly shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh. Not gonna let you carry them anymore. Besides, I want to,” he tuts at you. Clicking his tongue. For some reason, the sound leaves you dazed. A cog clicking in your brain at the same time as that throbbing ache returns. Settling with renewed force between your eyebrows.

Satoru halts in his tracks as he notices you frowning. Fingers massaging at your forehead as you look through your purse for your painkillers again. “You good?”  

“Yeah,” you manage. That dull pain spreading to the back of your head now. “Sorry. I’ve just been having this weird headaches lately. I’m no stranger to migraines, but these recent ones feel especially uncomfortable.”

This time, it’s Satoru who drops the bags. But he’s calm — way more composed than you as he leans down to pick them up. Not even a line misplaced in his roguish grin. You take that chance to glance at his ass, strangely perky for a man his age. Then again, he’s only, what, twenty eight? And you’ve noticed that his lips glisten too. Does he wear lip balm?

“You’re staring,” he remarks. Not even bothering to turn around to look you in the eye. But you hear rather than see the teasing lilt in his timbre — the lust barely curbed. “That’s sexual harassment, ya know? I can report you to HR if you’re not careful.”

You pin him with a deadpanned look. But your lips curve. A smile before you hide it behind your sleeve. “Yeah, well. You’ve stared at my ass, like, twelve times on the way here so I think it’s even.”

“Twelve,” he echoes. Then he brings up both hands and pretends to count, putting one finger down after another. Blues flashing at you as he lifts his gaze again. Flickering in mischief before they’re hidden. Covered behind dark sunglasses. “Fair enough. I’ll let you stare eleven more times then.”

You can’t help the laugh bubbling out of you. “You’re dumb,” you say, a little short of breath. Your cheeks aching from smiling too much. “Might as well take a picture at that point. It’ll last longer.”

You had meant it as a joke, but you know Satoru took it differently when his whole face lights up. Beaming as though enthused.

“We can work up to that,” he says. And you’re quick to shake your head. He’s quicker to lean close — shoulder to shoulder, ankle almost brushing up yours as he walks by your left. Steps weirdly synchronized with your footfalls. “Oh, we can definitely work up to that.” He suddenly turns wistful, a sigh drawled out like he’s lost to fond memories. “Ah, the imprint of my hand on your ass would look good as my phone’s wallpaper — I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

He laughs, guarding against your light slaps to his shoulder and chest with your shopping bags. It’s impressive you haven’t passed out by now with all the blood constantly rushing to your head.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look good with the sun kissing your skin, by the way? I noticed when we were out getting coffee. Such a fucking nice view,” he suddenly quips, grin stretching from ear to ear as he deliberately bumps into your arm. “Not as nice as the look you’re making right now though. God, you are so cute when you’re blushing.”

You feel hazy; everything in you searing hot at the slightest contact — the briefest of his warmth sapping into you even through the layers. You bite back with sarcasm, but the edge dulls. Dissolving into a breathless laugh. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Do you ever go out?” he banters back. “Like, seriously. Maybe your headaches are because you’re working all these unpaid overtimes — and no, don’t lie. I know they’re unpaid.”

You press your parted lips tight. Remark dying out in your throat as you curl into yourself like a child caught red-handed. “I do go out,” you mutter, defensive. Shoulders tense before you force them to relax.

“No, you don’t,” he scoffs. Pausing for a moment to think something over. “Or… I have a better idea. Maybe I can take you out. That’s a solution, right?”

You fumble, face so red you might as well be a stop sign. “Not if I don’t let you,” you say. Laughing. But there’s a shake in your voice. Uncertainty as you entertain the idea for a bit. And then you shake your head. More at yourself than at him. “Yeah, no. Not letting you have your way. Not indulging you anymore.”

Satoru doesn’t even flinch. “Uh-huh,” he hums. Tries to at least sound convincing as he nods his head. “I believe you.”

You catch his sarcasm. The way he smiles at you all smug like he knows he’s won.

“I really won’t,” you huff. But Satoru just pulls your bangs back before they could poke into your eyes. That slant of his lips never faltering.

You promised you wouldn’t. That indulging him would be the last thing you would do ever again. And for a short while, Satoru let you have that. Let you believe that it was possible, that you meant it even when you knew it yourself that you didn’t.

But now he’s pushing your breasts up against the mirror in the dressing room. One hand cupped over your face, fingers shoved so far down your throat you gag, you choke. You tear up as he watches you swirl your tongue all over his knuckles. His hips stuttering before doubling down, labored pants muffled into the junction between your neck and shoulder as he pulls your arms back. Using that added leverage to fuck you deeper. To render you at his mercy as he makes you take more than you can handle. Cock dragging along all the right spots — still so big you whine when he presses on the shape of him peeking through your stomach.

You’re thankful for the music playing loud through the mall’s speakers as you catch the sounds of skin smacking skin. Of you gushing and squelching around him as he fucks you standing. Picking you up and off the floor so easily and carelessly like you weighed nothing above a feather. Your panties a discarded heap around your ankles, slick trickling down your knees as his cum follows suit before he forces it back in with a single thrust. Hard — he’s pounding into you so viciously hard you can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop squirting down to his balls as he has his way with you.

“What happened to —" He pulls out only to slam back in. Laughing from the way you jolt from sudden pressure, “— not indulging me anymore, hm? You sounded so determined too that I almost believed you. But look at you now. Whining and making a mess. Swallowing all that dick so well like you’re made to be used like this. Made to be a fucking hole to warm my cock.”

“Shut — haah — up,” you manage to heave out. Yet it has no effect; leaving you in slurred words and muffled gasps as he presses fingertips to the back of your throat. Spit dribbling down your chin as you stare at your own reflection. At the cheeks flushed, the eyes half-lidded and dazed. The tears streaking down your cheeks as saliva drops to your chest. Your hair disheveled, your clothes even more so. Satoru laughs, and your walls pulse around him. Sucking him in as he quickly pistons in and out of you. Clear liquid spurting with every in and out. 

“Yeah, look at that pretty whore,” he rasps. Meeting your gaze through the mirror and sneering now as he digs his teeth into your shoulder blades. “My pretty fucking whore, huh? All desperate and needy and slutty just for me. Didn’t think I’d fuck you like this, did you? Didn’t think I’d pick you up and bounce you on my cock like this, did you? You perfect little slut, you eager little thing — fucking dumb bitch in heat creaming all over daddy’s dick —”

Whatever leaves you after sounds almost animalistic. Something raw and guttural, cacophonous and harsh as you shatter into pieces. Vision cutting to black, to Satoru as blue eyes flash at you. Feral; the slightest of something dark lurking underneath before you blink — and it’s gone again. Brief like it was never even there.

“Good girl,” but then he hushes you and you forget that, too.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s great. Rich and handsome with a weirdly charming sense of humor,” you laugh, phone to your ear as the elevator dings and the automatic doors slide open. Your best friend humming from the other side before asking about Satoru’s age. “Girl, no, he’s not sixty and on his deathbed. I wouldn’t be getting fucked so good if he was.”

There’s a spring in your steps as you walk to your apartment. Your body oddly light, a smile even more oddly plastered on your face. It’s been months since you’ve had any orgasms at all, but with Satoru cropping back up, that issue is so quickly solved it’s almost eerie. But you don’t care about that — relieved rather than perturbed as you exhale a contented sigh into the air.

You feel like all your accumulated stress had ebbed away with just one evening. Water down your back, weights you didn’t realize were slouching your shoulders. Even now, you can still hear his laugh. Can still feel his smile. His length snapping in and out between slippery folds.

You notice the boxes outside the apartment next to yours as you search through your purse for your keys. Silent for a moment before your best friend breaks your train of thought. “Uh, yeah, I’m still here. Sorry. It’s just that I think someone recently moved in next door?... Um, maybe today? I dunno, I didn’t see anything yesterday. No, I don’t know them. Haven’t even met them. You do know that I barely even go out, right?”

She makes a joke about juggling two people at once if your newfound neighbor is hot and you snort out a laugh. “Dude, no thanks. I have my hands full already with Mr. Rich and Handsome. Who — by the way, I forgot to mention — works with me now.”

You barely hear her freaking out over your phone as you breathe in at the wrong time and you catch smoke wafting through your window. Your hand immediately cupping over your nose before the smell could even sneak in as you frown. Your eyes squinting, catching a glimpse of grey and fire coming from the back of your apartment.

“Ugh, it’s that neighbor again,” you grumble. Checking the time on your clock before furiously snapping the window shut. “Can’t believe he’s burning trash at three in the morning. Can’t he be like the rest of us and throw them out like a normal person?”

But your annoyance is brief. Lingering only for a bit as your phone screen suddenly lights up and you notice Satoru’s contact name in your notifications.

“Oh, my god. He’s asking me if I’m free this weekend,” you almost scream. Flopping on your bed face first as you kick your feet up. Unable to contain your own excitement at the thought of meeting Satoru again. The smile tilting then wavering from your lips as your best friend questions your feelings for him. “What? No. I just think he’s cool to be around. Besides, he fucks good. I’ve only known him for a short while, so it’s not like I’m expecting anything.”

And then you pause. Goosebumps up your arms as you look back on today’s evening.

“But — well.” You suck in your cheek, holding back a grin. “I guess I can make time for him this weekend.”

“This is hopeless,” Suguru once told him. Sighing, frustrated as he eyed Satoru curling further into the sheets. “You know she doesn’t remember you.”

But Satoru only sounded a sharp inhale. “She will,” he whispered. A promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Satoru throws his head back. Appreciating the cold gust of wind tickling his hair. The moonlight illuminating his dimly lit room. The bustle of the crowd underneath, flickering lights and crowded roads. Grey and sparks of flames garnering his attention as he looks down to see burnt trash. The scent of fresh paint filling up his nose as he catches muffled giggling. His ears perking up — making out gossip and strings of words even through the walls.

He can’t help but laugh. They’re paper thin.

And then he flits his eyes close. White lashes like dark shadows on soft cheeks as he breathes in. Acid in his bones, a sting in his chest as smoke wafts in through his window.

[giggly-squiggily]

Hey 👋! Can i request lee inumaki and lers yuta, maki and panda?

Heyo! :D Admittedly, I got a little sappy at the end there lols. I've gotcha covered, anon!

CW: Swearing, mild angst

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13

“Hey, Inumaki…is something wrong?” Yuta asked one day, gaining the attention of Maki and Panda. Lately, the curse speaker had seemed…distant. He came to practice as required and worked with everyone when asked, but during free time he’d been especially quiet, keeping a healthy distance between himself and the group. Originally, Maki and Panda told him not to worry about it- “Inumaki has his rainy days. When he’s ready, he’ll come around.”

That was almost a full week ago. Yuta couldn’t hold back the questions any longer.

“.....Bonito flakes.” He offered quietly after a long pause, eyes scrunching some in a hidden smile. The lie was so obvious. Yuta hesitated before going on.

“Inumaki…you’ve been acting off since Monday. I’m worried.” Yuta offered a shaky smile, hoping he came off comforting. “If you ever need someone to talk to..”

Something darkened in Inumaki’s eyes, brief and heavy. Then he was faking a smile again, reaching out and patting Yuta’s head. “Bonito flakes.”

A clear cut but firm denial. Yuta felt himself blink back tears.

“Hey, Inumaki. Yuta’s got a point.” Maki climbed up the steps one after another, tossing her staff aside once she got to his spot. “This strange silence of yours isn’t normal. Talk.”

“Gentle, Maki.” Panda reminded as he came around, squishing his furry butt between Yuta and Inumaki. “But really- you had that mission Monday, did something go wrong?”

“....Bonito flakes.” Inumaki looked away.

“Lying isn’t a good look for you, recipe boy.” Maki elbowed him gently, sitting down. “Panda and I’ve known you forever. Even Yuta knows when you lie- isn’t that right?”

“Oh? Oh, um…yes.” Yuta yelped, shrinking some at the dirty look Inumaki gave him. “Sorry, Toge…”

“Don’t apologize, Yuta. He’s all hiss and no claws.” Panda teased, winking as his large paw stretched. “In fact- check this out.”

“Salmon roe…” Inumaki began, leaning away from the paw stretching towards his belly. He leaned so far back he completely forgot about Maki. “Sal-HEEEEEH!” He arched with a squeal as ten fingers suddenly pressed into his sides. “Ikuruhuhuhuahhaahhhaa!”

“Language, shithead.” Maki chuckled, her voice warm as she carried on prodding and poking at his torso, skittering her fingers along his ribcage. “Talk and we’ll stop, right Panda?”

“Hell yeah!” The animal cried, laughing just as much as his paws attacked Inumaki’s belly, tapping and dragging against the thin fabric of his uniform. “Yuta, get in on this!”

“H-Huh?” He blinked, not expecting the invite. He was more than content just sitting by watching the fiasco go down, figuring he wasn’t quite in the group just yet.

Still…

“Erm, where do I..” He began, hands fluttering as he tried to decide where to tickle. Inumaki was a mess of laughter already, cheeks pink and eyes squeezed shut as he cackled out “Flakes! Flahahahahkes!” His feet kicked against Panda’s belly, bouncing off harmlessly. Any attempts to push away Maki proved useless as she adjusted her grip, pulling some insane move where her legs pinned his arms back, giving her free range to tickle his torso. Despite the cries and fluster, Inumaki looked surprisingly happy.

Maybe he was enjoying himself? It did look kinda fun…

“Go for his pits, he’ll cry.” Maki ordered, pulling her leg back so there was more room to reach. Inumaki made a squeak sound, shaking his head rapidly as Yuta slowly approached, whimpering pleas of “Salmon roe”.

“Are you ready to talk?” Yuta asked. Maki and Panda paused briefly, giving him a moment to decide. After a few gasps of air, Inumaki considered. Then, with a shaky breath, he breathed out a firm “Bohohnito flahakes.”

“Stubborn ass.” Maki shook her head in mock disappointment. Panda wiped away a fake tear. “Alright- Yuta, it’s all you. Straight for the pits.”

“Right! Sorry, Inumaki.” He gave a quick smile before digging his hands into the spot. Inumaki arched with a squeal, practically flying off the ground as loud wheezy laughter boomed from his lips. Maki and Panda were quick to join in, returning to their original spots as the rice ball speaker giggled and flailed beneath him.

It took another minute of flailing, squealing, and the threat of being voice cursed, but finally, Inumaki gave in. Flapping his hands wildly, he managed to tap Yuta’s arm, signaling he was done.

“Ready to give in?” Maki asked as they came to an end, watching the pale boy curl into himself with huffs of laughter. He looked so…exhausted. Yuta felt his heart pinch in guilt- maybe they went too far?

But then Inumaki was pulling himself up and taking a deep breath. He looked at each of them carefully before pulling out his phone.

 Soft typing noises could be heard, and within minutes, the group chat notification went off. When Yuta looked, the following message said:

Monday, when we were doing our mission together- I scared you. I used my curse technique on you to prevent you from walking into an enemies trap. The look on your face when you suddenly couldn’t move…I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head since.

“Inumaki…” Yuta breathed, heart sinking in his chest. Another text popped up before he could speak:

Please don’t feel bad, Yuta. I’m not upset by how you reacted. I feel guilty for freaking you out like that. It’s not a fun feeling to suddenly lose control of your own body like that, and usually I can give the other’s a warning that I may have to use my technique on them. I didn't do it for you, and I’m sorry.

“You had to do it though. Like you said- if you didn’t freeze me where I stood, I’d be dead.” Yuta reached out, squeezing Inumaki’s hand within his own. “Sure, I was scared, but not of you. I was scared that I almost threw my life away. If anything- I should be apologizing for forcing your hand like that. So- I’m sorry. I really appreciate what you did for me.”

“Mustard leaf…” Inumaki’s eyes glistened some, and Yuta smiled as he squeezed his hand reassuringly. Maki and Panda nodded to one another, satisfied.

“Aww- isn’t that sweet.” Gojo’s voice shook them from their moment, drawing their attention to him and the bag of treats over his arm. “I’m back! And I got you all souvenirs! Come get them before I change my mind.”

“Is my souvenir the cursed blade I gave you? Cause you still haven’t given it back.” Maki stood, Panda already bouncing to his feet at the various candies in the bag. Inumaki and Yuta shared a warm look before they stood, joining the others for treats. As they went, Inumaki squeezed Yuta’s shoulder, the gesture loud without words.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading!

[webslingingslasher]

sneak peeks at any wips bff??? 👀

oof i got MANY

---------------------------

how about a joes pizza peter?

Your words cut when a loud knock hit the door and it swung open. 

“I know you’re fucking me over and I won’t leave until you say it.” You blink, he’s in a red shirt, an employee. He’s upset, you’d imagine his eyebrows are furrowed but you couldn’t see them under the curls that rested on his forehead, his tone playful but serious. He’s awfully cute, he looks just a tad bit familiar, you assume you’ve seen him around campus once or twice, it seemed nearly the entire staff were students. 

You check for a name tag, it’s missing. 

“Parker, meet the new hire. New hire, meet Parker.” 

You wave shyly, “hi, Parker.” 

“Oh, I’m not-” 

Joe cuts him off, “Kid, take her to get some shirts, then you can come back in and we’ll talk about you missing shifts.” Parker narrows his eyes at his boss then back down, “alright,” he directs his attention towards you, “follow me, nooby.” With a final handshake to your new boss you follow him out the room, he takes you to the left and behind a stack of lockers laid uniform shirts and aprons. 

“I say take one for every shift you plan to work plus one, then you can let the laundry go for an extra day.” He winks at you. You smile and look for your size, stacking four shirts and tucking them under your arm. Before you can ask him where you know him from, his name is called. 

“Parker! Three on east side up, you got thirty!” 

The kid groans, and even though you don’t understand the dynamic yet, you still work there. That means you’re in the trenches with everyone here, he looks at you and complains. “See? I told you, fucking with me.” Parker rolls his eyes and races down the hall, makes a pit stop at Joe’s office, “you’re fucking with me.” 

---------------------------------

perhaps you wake in an alternate universe and your friend/longtime crush is actually your boyfriend?

Everything was normal, it was just confusing.

You practiced what to say when you would finally approach him, you were on your third rerun when you watched him walk up the hall. He met your eyes and raised his eyebrows, a wide grin took over his face. Peter walked up to you confidently, you pouted at him. 

You started to speak, “Hey-” 

He cut you off wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing, “Hi, baby.” Before you could question him he leaned in and placed a kiss to your lips, he held it there for a second before he pulled away to your shocked face. 

“Why would you do that?” You felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped on you. 

Peter looks confused, he puts the back of his hand against your forehead. “Why? Are you feeling sick?” You slapped his hand away, he was the one kissing you. “No, are you?” 

He laughs, “Why would I be sick?” 

You stared at him before addressing the obvious, “You kissed me.” 

Peter nods his head proudly, “Damn right I did.” 

You looked around the room, you felt like you were in a dream. Everything looked in place but when you tried to fill in the small details it started to fuzz, you pinched yourself and jumped at the pain. You still didn’t take it for word. 

“Why?” 

“Cause I can, duh. C’mere.” He pulled you in for another, you hesitated for a moment before giving in. You half expected him to pull away with a ‘gotcha!’ this whole thing was a massive prank to make you think you were dating, it happened out of nowhere. You felt so out of the loop it was almost dizzying. 

What the fuck was happening?

Peter pulled away with a pout, “Why are you kissing me like that?” 

You panic, “Like what?” 

He pulls a thumb at your bottom lip, “Like it’s your first time kissing me.” 

You pull a dumb face, “It is.” Does he not understand this has never happened? 

Everything was normal. 

This was not normal. 

-----------------------------------

maybe a lil reader got their wisdom teeth out and kinda forgot about peter being their boyfriend?

The boy can’t help but crack a laugh, he’s next to your bed. His hand is on the rail, close to yours. He’s fucking adorable. 

“You’re cute.” You can’t help the words as they tumble, your cheeks hint at warmth but you’re too high to be embarrassed. 

The boy grins, “Aw, thank you baby. You’re cuter.” 

Your jaw drops, he catches it and closes it. “Bite.” You like that the cute guy is telling you what to do, you wonder if he has a girlfriend. You hope not, it sounded real nice when he called you baby. 

“Nurse! The cute guy called me baby.” 

She just shook her head with a grin and finished packing up the room. “Ten minutes and the cute guy takes you home.” 

You drop your jaw again in shock, once more he catches it and tells you to bite. Peter understands you even when you talk with clenched teeth, “I get to take you home?” 

“You sure do, I even get to stay all night.” He winked and as if he knew your reaction he held a finger on your jaw, just so you couldn’t drop it. 

“Does my insurance even cover that?” 

“I’ll do it for free.” 

Stuck in shock you can’t help but take advantage, he really is the most attractive human you’ve ever seen. 

“You’re really, really attractive.” You rub a finger over an eyebrow, it’s permanently stuck up, no matter how hard you try it doesn’t flatten. 

Peter can’t bring himself to say a word, you’re too lost in looking over his face. 

You trace a finger over his eyelashes and down his nose. There are small bumps and curves in the bridge, you wonder if he’s broken it before. Tracing his mouth you ask, he speaks with your finger over his bottom lip. 

“Have you broken your nose?” 

“A few times.” 

You run your finger back over it, a small pout takes over. “I’m sorry.” 

He whispers as you dot your fingerprints over his cheeks, it feels like you're counting. “It’s okay, you didn’t do it.” 

“You have freckles. They’re very pretty.” 

He’s not used to this much attention. You fawn over him all the time, but it feels much more honest and raw when you’re off of anesthesia. 

“You’re very kind.” He presses a kiss to your fingertips, they seem to like to float there. 

----------------------------------------

which one would you wanna read first? I've been doing a lot of requests I miss my OG work ngl 😭

[willsherjohnkhan]

Rogue Male: A Sherlolly Story

Chapter 4: Identified

***

LONDON

Returning to England, making his way to London, and meeting up with Mycroft were all risky decisions. But they were necessary ones, for they gave him the upper hand on those that pursued him.

England was home, and London his domain. It was here he had his own vast network to assist him with whatever he was likely to need in order to apprehend the other members of Moriarty’s criminal organisation.

*

It didn’t take long after slipping away from The Diogenes Club for Sherlock to become aware that he had been tracked down. His shadow skilfully followed his every move. Whoever they were, they were remarkably adept at keeping well out of sight.

This simply would not do. It made Sherlock doubly determined to discover their identity, exposing them, if for no other reason than to assess the level of danger his shade posed, to himself and the public in general.

The question was, how best to get them to reveal themselves.

***

LONDON UNDERGROUND

Without warning Sherlock ducked into the Hollborn Underground Station, quickly buying an all-day pass before inserting the ticket into the machine and gaining access to the platforms. Once through he immediately made his way to the escalator that took him to the Central London Line.

Luck was on his side as a train had just pulled onto the platform.

While passengers on the train disembarked, and those waiting on the platform moved forward intent on getting onboard, Sherlock used the brief interlude to scan the crowd in search of his quarry. But to his growing frustration they remained irritatingly elusive.

The train was about to leave the platform when Sherlock jumped onboard, only to immediately turn around and hop off.

He ran for the stairs that would get him to the Piccadilly Line. As he began his descent he had the satisfaction of hearing someone having to force the train doors and leap out just as the train took off.

A brief glance over his shoulder was enough for Sherlock to identify his pursuer.

“Gotcha,” he murmured triumphantly as he made his way hastily down the steps.

*

His name was Parker, a short, stocky, yet powerfully built man, essential in his line of work. He was a garrotter by trade, and a member of Moriarty’s inner circle.

He was definitely the type you should be prepared for. Knowledge of your opponent was an invaluable asset.

With the distance between them and Sherlock’s longer stride that allowed him to reach the platform first, giving him a few precious moments to decide which car to enter, and find somewhere to sit.

The innocuous babble of schoolchildren that crowded around him, either sitting or standing, was only made bearable by the fact that they kept him shielded from the frantic searching gaze of his pursuer, who was forced to abandon his search in order to get on the train just as it took off.

Sherlock had no intention of staying put for long, but he also didn’t want to reveal his whereabouts if at all possible.

*

The obvious advantage for getting on the Piccadilly Circus Line was that it would take him to the Baker Street Station. But there was great risk in doing so, but as things stood at the moment, this was the best and quickest option. Sherlock could only hope that his run of luck thus far would continue.

When the train began to slow as it pulled into Baker Street Station, Sherlock was relieved to see the platform overrun by a mass of schoolchildren.

A number of passengers on the train began making their way towards the doors, all bracing themselves for the inevitable impact as the unruly hoards of children forced their way onto the already packed train car.

Sherlock made certain to be right in the middle of the mayhem, giving as good as he received in the pushing and shoving in order to get off the train as quickly as possible.

*

His luck held, with Parker this time unable to make it out of the door before the train left the station.

Using the few precious minutes before Parker could catch another train back, Sherlock made his way to a locker he had at the station. From it he retrieved items he had left instructions for a member of his Homeless Network to leave there: a backpack loaded with supplies for living off the grid, and a sleeping bag.

Then, using a public phone he rang a former client, who had offered his assistance should Sherlock ever require it, and made arrangements for where he was to be picked up.

***

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF LONDON

Sherlock unfolded himself from the cramped confines of the man’s mini, and headed off without a backward glance.

His plan, to remain concealed from prying eyes for as long as possible, in order to give him the time he needed to get his plan of action up and running.

To that end he immediately left the road and headed over to some overgrown woodland that would help to keep him hidden and well out of sight.

Time was of the essence, for he knew that with their resources Moriarty’s operatives would soon track him down. So he needed to keep one step ahead of them for as long as possible, and use what time he had to set a trap.

***

[omo-goose]

another oc fic that got way too long and self indulgent uhhhh, tw for implied injury sorta, implied overestimation, and crying, it's fluff though I prommy ❤️

Her foot tapped against the floor tile, making a soft clicking noise as her heel hit the floor,

click.. click... click..

She was fidgety. It was probably pretty obvious to anyone spectating her predicament by now. She has to pee. Urgently.

Although she very much hoped her attempts at subtlety were working, she could tell by the curious glances she was receiving that the others in the coffee shop were well aware.

It was getting late, nearly dark outside, and she had once again found herself having to walk home from work.

Usually, she wouldn't mind. After all, it was only a short distance from her home, so she figured as long as she tried not to think too hard about it, she could make it to the restroom.

Why didn't she just use the bathroom before she clocked out you may ask, well, the thought of using public bathrooms made her very anxious.

Not only were the restrooms unreasonably dirty, despite efforts to keep them clean, they were also very unpleasant to be in for her. the constant smell of cleaning spray made her dizzy even just thinking about it.

For that brief moment of thought, she stumbled, losing her balance and falling towards the sidewalk. She felt the ground give away beneath her feet as though slipping from a crumbling edge.

And then suddenly, there was warm hands holding her in place firmly. She tried to look up but they hadn't loosend their grip yet.

"hold on hold on, easy now hon" a gentle, soothing voice reassured her, "ah, looks like you almost faceplanted there!"

The person helped her to her feet, keeping an arm up for support, worried she may have hurt her ankle.

They stood at least a good few inches taller than her, and that was in heels.

All this distraction and jostling around had suddenly made her very aware of just how full her bladder felt.

She bit her lip as she felt a small leak slip past, involuntary crossing her legs a little.

The person looked at her with a concerned expression, "Oh, are you hurt hon? I can call someone if you need-"

"a ah, uh n no that's fine please..." she mumbled sheepishly, trying to hold back the flood desperately trying to escape her bladder.

Without warning, another leak escaped, much larger than the last. It made an audible hissing sound as it saturated and streamed down the front of her shorts.

"f fuck-" she breathed heavily, feeling herself losing control, the warmth and relief making her head swim. She knew she probably should be trying harder to hold it, but at this point she couldn't bring herself to stop. She was unsure she would even be able to if she tried.

Her weight leaned against the person as they watched in surprise as she helplessly wet herself, unable to look away.

They saw tears forming in the edges of her eyes as the reality if the situation caught up to her brain.

"I, I'm so-" she hiccuped and tried to choke back a sudden sob, eyes burning with hot tears of embarrassment, " sor sorry! I, I-" she hid her face in their arms reflexively.

"hey hey, shh" They patted her back comfortingly, "you're alright hon, I gotcha, you're alright"

they both stood there in the fading sunset and dim lamplight of the sidewalk, a sizable puddle beneath them from her accident.

after a while, she spoke up, her voice a little strained from crying, "er, my name is Shay by the way... I didn’t quite catch yours heh..." she chuckled shyly

"Paz, " they responded, and after a brief pause they added, "do you need help getting home, Shay?"

[awellboiledicicle]

“April, a word?” They continued scribbling away in their notebook as if Jon hadn’t just called them from his doorway directly across from their desk. He cleared his throat. “Now?”

“Engorge.”

“.... what?”

They blinked at him over the top of their roll top desk, though their smirk was rather obvious.

“You asked for a word.”

“In my office. About a statement.”

“Well, why didn’t you say?” He tried his very best to not twitch too much in annoyance while they ambled their way around to join him. “Which one?”

“The one from staff sergeant--”

“Oh, the piper! That’s a good one.”

Jon, for what it was worth, managed to not outwardly grumble as they waltzed past into his office and took a seat. He’d not intended them to sit down. He’d intended for them to stand there, answer his question, and then get back to work. He did not yet know that was not how the archive functions.

“It’s... something.” Stiffly, he returned to his own chair and sat down. He did his best to ignore the deep feeling of discomfort that followed April turning their attention from his desk, to himself. “Do you know why it’s in the section from the early aughts?”

They chewed at their lip and became very interested in the corner of his office for a moment. Then, rather startlingly, they clapped their hands.

“Afghanistan! Or Iraq. We-- er, the US and whoever i guess-- kicking around in the middle east probably stirred the ol’ piper up. Or something close enough to it.” At his look of confusion, they shrugged. “Just a guess.”

“There’s no literal Piper, April.”

“Must be.” They gestured to the file, expression amused. “Wilfred met it.”

“I...” He quickly decided that he did not have the energy to argue about the existence of personifications of war with them. He rubbed at his forehead and sighed. “Fine, sure, whatever. Why, exactly, would it be grouped like that? Or are you saying she grouped all war statements and these got separated?”

With a sigh of their own, April went back to staring at him in their very specific way that made him fidget.

“I’m saying that you could probably tie them together from personifications, war, the sociopolitical climate of the decade, so on. Or maybe she was just reading them at the same time and none of us could be assed to sort it back into the old as fuck section.” Another shrug at his look of disbelief. “Look, i know you think we’ve been down here watching TV and eating bonbons for a decade, but sometimes the standing order was ‘i will find it if i need it’ or ‘make it hard on Elias’.”

“Why in gods name would hampering Elias be the standing order?”

At this they got very, very still for a moment. After a slight shudder, they shook their head.

“Gertrude was a very particular woman. Very picky about her archive. I expect you’ll get super picky about who can and can’t get into the statements too! Now,” They focused in rather directly on his face and he had to concentrate on not trying to move away. If April noticed, they didn’t seem to react. “Until you’re further into your little digitization spree, it’s not going to matter what one you pull first. You’re going to have us all chase down leads on them all anyway, so the where you found them doesn’t matter.”

This time, he didn’t particularly try to hide his scowl.

“It does, in fact, matter! Just because Gertrude couldn’t manage this archive doesn’t mean I will take the same lazy approach! Everything needs to be in order. And, as Mr. Delano seems loath to help in any meaningful capacity, the burden of seniority falls squarely on yourself and Mr. Shelley. Meaning each and every error and filing mistake falls upon your shoulders.” Crossing his arms, he raised an eyebrow. “Is this understood?”

To his dismay, they seemed more amused than intimidated by his declaration. Thankfully for his ego, they did him the service of nodding.

“Gotcha, Jon.” They stood with a stretch and headed for the door. He could have, he supposed, pointed out that he hadn’t dismissed them. He opted to not fight that battle. “Have fun reading.”

“...right.”

[emptylotfiasco]

⬆ -1 ⬇ 💬30

Thew1cked1: Okay. Fucking Okay. lets pretend for the sake of the argument that ANYONE believes the load of horseshit that you just spat out. and to be absolutely, honestly real, NOBODY does. I have no clue WHY youd need to be told that, but in case for some reason you needed that spelled out: nobody believes your horseshit. ACTUALLY you probably DO need it spelt out, because people like you are so honest to god stupid that you geniunely SERIOUSLY BELIEVE that all of the fucking garbage you spewed actually happened.

>TheW1cked1: and let me be clear. it is NOT because the stuff you said would involve magic. I AM AN ACTUAL WIZARD. I KNOW HOW TO FUCKING DO MAGIC. Youll find that I'm the ONLY ONE on the internet who does. and if you even try to gotcha me by mentioning some culture exclusively practiced in the modern day by white girls with unwashed vaginas that you didnt know existed I will cast a spell that will make your brain MELT and gush out of your fucking ears and mummify you from the inside out. thats right. i know how to do that. I CAN do that. because I'm an actual fucking wizard and you're not.

Evilbeetle69: Anyone on this thread smoke weed? a puff of the good stuff every now and then? I suggest you try it HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW

>TheW1cked1: oh my fucking god kill yourself.

>> Evilbeetle69: Why would I do that, when I could instead give your mother cancer? And GIVE HER CANCER I HAVE DONE! MWAH HA HA!

>>>TheW1cked1: You gave some woman I've never met in my life cancer. good job. I REALLY cared about that. You REALLY GOT ME Evil. GOOD FUCKING JOB. How am I EVER gonna live another guiltless day in my life knowing some stupid broad FROM FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AGO died of lung cancer. I have no choice but to BROOM BLAST myself.

>>>>Evilbeetle69: Actually... IT WAS PROSTATE! HAHAHAHAHA!! MWA HA HA HA HA!

>>>>> TheW1cked1: YOU CANT GIVE A WOMAN PROSTATE CANCER YOU FUCKING SHART BLOODED GEED

>>>>>>Evilbeetle69: Zeus, my aquaintaince in the arcane arts, you should know by now that there is nothing beyond the realms of wizardly magic! MWA HA HA HA!

>>>>>>>TheW1cked1: STOP. FUCKING. REPLYING TO ME.

>>>>>>>>Evilbeetle69: How could I when you get so delightfully mad? haw haw haw haw!

TheW1cked1: fucking okay. Even If i wasn't one hundred percent sure you were a faker (i will get into reasons for this later but its obvious to ANYONE whos actually done real magic once in their fucking life) youre really fucking deranged and you need professional help. its a failure of every possible world infrastructure that a fucking psycho like you was allowed to roam free and you should be fucking detained or encased in concrete like a vat of radioactive waste and dropped into the ocean. anyone whos rage boner has reached acrobatic fucking feats of autism should not be allowed to work with children. and actually the fact that youve been trying to kill one for 500 years makes me think that if this was to be taken seriously you would be in jail right now.

>TheW1cked1: I HOPE EVERY CELL IN YOUR BODY SPONTANEOUSLY STOPS RESPIRING AND YOUR GENITALS FUCKING IMPLODE. HANG YOURSELF YOU WORTHLESS FUCKING SPECIMEN OF LIFE

>>TheW1cked1: That was my own comment.

Thew1cked1: Not like the literal child who murdered multiple people isnt a jackass too (probably also made up like the rest of this fucking story) but if i couldnt kill him the first time around i would fucking give up and do anything else with my life. arent you a fucking adult or something. dont you have a job and money. why the fuck are you like this. im not even gonna address any of the false timeline assasination stuff because what the actual flying fuck

Thew1cked1: Anyways. ESH i guess. but i cant fucking bear to think about this for another moment without popping a vein so im inclined to say YTA just because i hate you and i think you should fucking die.

Thew1cked1: to anyone else looking at this: just dismiss this as the stupid fucking creative writing schlock it obviously is. because this person OBVIOUSLY wants attention and knows that lying on the internet gets you it nine out of ten times. as if anyone could take this shit seriously when in the middle of this soap opera bullcrap they throw out that apparently they fucking. have the whole world trapped in a time loop. and if this chick is really using battle worlds she should have full control over every element of her world. just. STOP. IMAGINING YOUR ASSASSINS EXIST. ITS THAT FUCKING EASY. But obviously she cant do that because you shouldnt be able to BRING A GIANT CHUNK of the world into your fucking brain space. nobody fucking does that. thats not a thing. people like you make me mad at the world. to think im the only thing standing between drooling mouthbreathers like you and the total annihilation of the world makes me want to neck myself. what the fuck is the point. what is the point of anything. i fucking hate magic and i hate you

>Evilbeetle69: 217.127.228.134. <- your ip address!

>>Thew1cked1: Why. holy fuck. why

CrazyyAndyy: Anyone here smoke weeeed

Write an r/AmITheAsshole post told from your OC’s perspective. (Bonus: include replies from your other OCs.)

[opedguy]

Jan. 6 House Select Committee Farce

LOS ANGELES (OnineColumnist.com), Dec. 30, 2022.--Telling the whole story about the Jan. 6 House Select Committee, a transcript of testimony by former Dept. of Homeland Security Chief Ken Cuccinelli pounded by Committee lawyers to admit former President Donald Trump said the election was “rigged.”  To partisan Democrats and Republicans on the committee, it was all about the “gotcha” moment with witnesses admitting “something,” then leaping to conclusions about motive.  What difference did it make whether Cuccinelli said Trump thought the Nov. 8, 2020 election was “rigged?”  Committee members wanted anything incriminating about Trump, whether it means anything or not.  Cuccinelli refused to admit he heard Trump say the election was  “rigged,” something he tweeted many times since losing the election to 80-year-old President Joe Biden.  Cuccinelli refused to knuckle under the cross examination.

When asked repeatedly whether or not he heard Trump say the election was “rigged,” Cuccinelli refused to acknowledge the obvious.  “I am not prepared to say that,” Cuccinelli told the Committee under oath.  “Is it fair to say,:” asked a Committee investigator? “That seeds of distrust were even with respect to the 2020 election—after the November 2020 election,” asked the investigator.  “I am not prepared to validate that word,” Cuccinelli said regarding Trump post-election comments about “rigged election.”  Committee investigators were trying to establish that Trump whipped up his base to attack the Capitol and stop Congress from certifying the Electoral College vote.  So, members of Committee took greater liberties to stretch the facts to the breaking point, saying if Trump said the election was “rigged,” that meand that he encouragef his supporters to riot on Jan. 6, 2021.

When you consider how the Committee operated, getting Cuccinelli to admit that Trump said the election was “rigged” mean the Committee could infer that Trump encouraged his followers to vandalize the Capitol.  Members of the Committee, like Rep. Liz Cheney (R-Wy.) and Rep. Adam Kinsinger (R-Ill.) concluded early on that Trump planned and organized the Jan.6 insurrection. So, by the Committee’s logic, if Trump called the election “rigged,” he encouraged violence by his followers.  Committee members routine referred to Jan. 6 so-called “insurrectionists” as “Trump supporters.”  Committee members have no clue whether or not the Jan. 6 rabble-rousers or criminals were Trump supporters but referred to them that way.  Atty. Gen. Merrick Garland, 70, and his 52-year-old Special Counsel Jack Smith attempt determine whether the Committee’s work was political hit job.

When you think of all the emphasis Democrat and press gave to Trump’s taxes, it’s another red herring for the seething hatred expressed toward Trump.  Trump infuriated the press by winning the 2016 election over the universal backing for former Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton.  Most of the broadcast and print media predicted a decisive Hillary victory Nov. 3, 2016, only to see Trump win.  Trump humiliated the press by proving them wrong, when he beat Hillary in the Electoral College, while Hillary won the popular vote.  Now that the Supreme Court cleared the way to release five-years of Trump’s federal taxes, the press got its way even if the public yawned.  Only Democrats and the press care about trying to humiliate Trump by exposing his private financial information.  Just like Trump calling the election “rigged,” who cares other than partisan Democrats?

How many times did the Jan. 6 House Select Committee say that Trump used the “Big Lie” to whip the Jan. 6 mob into a frenzy before attacking the Capitol?  Democrats and press used to “Big Lie” to refute the “rigged election,” or Trump’s statements of widespread voter fraud.  Democrats and the press conflate Trump personal opinions about the Nov. 8, 2020 election with galvanizing crowd to commit violence against the government.   House Committee members could not find any language that encouraged anyone Jan. 6 to break the law.  Whether or not certain groups or individuals broke the law Jan. 6, it’s a leap to say Trump encouraged lawlessness.  Whatever happened to the Jan. 6 lawbreakers, it was not something Trump encouraged or should be punished for.  Anyone who broke the law Jan. 6, has been prosecuted to the full extent of the law, receiving long jail sentences.

Garland and Smith have some big decisions to make about the Committee’s recommended charges against Trump.  Rep. Jamie Raskin (D-Md.), formerly lead impeachment manager and key player on the Jan. 6 Committee, said recently that Trump has led a “misanthropic life.”  When Garland and Smith hear that, how can they take any of the Committee’s criminal charges against Trump seriously?  Raskin lets the Department of Justice know the extent of Committee’s bias against Trump.  If Trump felt the Nov. 8, 2020 were “rigged” by Democrats, that’s his personal opinion, not a crime, not grounds for prosecution.  Yet Democrats refer to Jan. 6 lawbreakers as “Trump supporters,” continuing to denigrate the former president.  Garland and Smith know that any court with extreme prejudice against a defendant would trigger a hung jury.  Trump’s case shows egregious bias and partisanship.

About the Author

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news.  He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

[monstersinthecosmos]

The show definitely isn't going with the Loustat route. With the way things are going there's no way anyone would want to root for them, and I think that's probably the point.

yeah tbh like, I think part of why this experience has been so discordant for me is that I sat here like a fuckin tool just inhaling every bit of news for a year and it's like, how many times they said it was a romance, how many times RJ said the characters were important to him, how many times they said the changes they made were small things that wouldn't matter, etc. It's hard to consume the show with a blank slate when you've been given that message for a year. Even the trailers strategically used tons of giffable shippy moments that, when they finally showed up on screen, turned out to not be romantic at all LOL.

So I feel like I'd have a different perception of the show maybe if I hadn't known all that. Then again, sometimes when I watch the episode and make the creative decisions make sense, RJ comes on afterwards and ruins it by undoing the grace I was willing to give him LOL.

I could see it being a grand creative challenge to see how much they can make you hate Lestat and still have you root for them in the end but idk. If that's the show some people want to watch, I hope that's fun. LOL. Like, that's kinda how it is in the books? Lestat is awful and misbehaved and selfish and abusive and we root for him anyway. If it ain't broke don't fix it, idk man. The source was already right there.

There's two things I keep coming back to, though:

Jacob & Sam said in an interview at one point (I wanna say it was SDCC weekend but I can't recall) that even when things were hard between the characters they were informed by the idea of the reunion and it helped to be awful to each other. So I worry that everyone on the production is using that as a horizon line to work towards.

It was just continuously promoted as a romance. AND LIKE THIS IS KINDA ??? idk like was it deliberately misleading marketing? Or is it a show full of like, lazy cishet tropes that doesn't realize how toxic it's coming off? (I am still pointing towards the confrontation from Daniel's soulmates comment where it's like HOW IS THAT THE IMPRESSION YOURE GETTING FROM THIS STORY LOL) ((And not to nitpick RJ harder than deserved, but in Ep6's thing afterwards he kinda brushed it off like it was normal relationship bad decision making and not like, horrifically depraved abuse LMAO.))

This is another point that isn't exactly about what we're talking about right now but SINCE I GOTCHA HERE I also wanna say there's been this really obnoxious trend that I'm seeing in some of the newer & casual fans and I even saw in some reviews, and it's the bad habit of writing off all evildoing as ~ThEY'Re VamMPIreS~~ as a blanket excuse to ignore all bad behavior and pretend that every bad thing they do is simply them "being vampires." And a lot of "WHAT DO YOU EXPECT, IT'S A HORROR/VAMPIRE SHOW" and like !!!!!!! I gotta say those are absolutely ice cold takes.

The entire reason this book was groundbreaking was because it humanized the vampires. And a huge core of the books is analyzing good and evil and the meaning of their lives. The entire idea is "I want to be a good person even though I have to kill humans to survive" and each book has that conversation.

"THEY'RE VAMPIRES" completely misses the point, and some of the drama & violence on this show is so heavy-handed that I wonder if the team takes the THEYRE VAMPIRE approach where it's just carte blanche to act like a fucking asshole lol. And just, idk. I'm not sure it's fair to accuse the team of "missing the point" bc I'm sure they're all educated and understand the books, but it's very obvious to me that this was a way to cash in on a bunch of tacky vampire tropes for the money lol.

The entire point of the books, the reason they were groundbreaking, the reason we love them is that the vampires are still so human. They're capable of hurting others and being hurt. Their interpersonal relationships in the face of eternal loneliness are just as full of compassion and emotion as any other relationship. MAYBE EVEN MORESO BECAUSE THEY'RE ALL BIG VAMPIRE-BRAINED AND EXTRA EMOTIONAL. And I think this theme is REALLY strong with Lestat; obviously we spend the most time with his interiority but he struggles with his relationships and wanting to be loved and wanting to be good, even when he fucks up. And those fuckups are more human than they are vampire.

So idk I find the show very tonally imprecise; I worry that the extreme violence they used was perhaps a ~they're vampires~ decision and they're trying to tell us that to vampires maybe it's not such a big deal? (Hate that lol.) But at the same time, it feels really, idk, gross and uncomfortable to leave horror conventions to use such real world domestic violence tableaus to tell a vampire story. If it's supposed to be fantastical vampire drama we could've done with slightly fewer of the too-real bits, idk. MAYBE I'M SENSITIVE HAHA. But yeah it's just.

I'm sure I'd have a different opinion if I came in cold (and I've been trying to watch like YouTube reactions from new fans to see their impression! It's really interesting!) but it's difficult not to come in with expectations between all the marketing and even just having a foundation of the books.

[sidespromptblog]

Orange Eyed Delight

Summary: Virgil finds out about Logan's orange eyes.

Warnings: Minor blood and injury, hurt/comfort, negative self-talk (From Logan), and anxiousness (Virgil). 

Word Count: 2,318

AO3 LINK

The first time that Virgil saw it, it was an accident. 

He’d been sitting on the counter when it had happened, with Logan in the kitchen washing the dishes from the morning after Roman and Patton had just left. The steam rising from the hot water pouring into the sink had made Logan’s glasses foggy, until the logical side had eventually just decided to set them on the counter next to all of the clean dishes he had already finished. His was flipped over his shoulder, so that it wouldn’t dip into the water. And the long sleeves of the other’s shirt had been pushed up over his elbows, the occasional splatter of water made a dark stain on his black shirt. The noises of the dishes clanking together in the soapy water, and Logan’s small soft mumbles was a comfortable background noise to Virgil where he could just be on his phone in a comfortable silence with the other side. 

Logan seemed to get it, as he didn’t bother trying to engage in conversation with Virgil. 

It was their usual routine, a comfortable routine. 

Then there was a crash, and a loud splash of water shortly followed by a surprised sound from Logan. 

In an instant Virgil’s attention snapped up from his phone, and to the other side who was cradling his hand close to his chest in a wounded fashion. 

“Logan?!” Virgil jumped from the counter, quickly rushing over to the logical side. “What happened?” 

A short growl fell from Logan’s clenched teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut, a look of pain molded on every crease of his face. “My mug..” Logan managed to get out, before gesturing with his elbow to the pile of broken ceramic in the bottom of the sink. “It broke.” 

Virgil looked down first into the sink to all the shards that remained to be a dangerous hazard to anyone that touched them, and then at Logan’s hand. The heated red skin of the other’s palm had a long thin cut across it, with blood already starting to pool out of it. Similar smaller cuts peppered all over his fingers, as if Logan had attempted to pick up the shards that laid in the hot water purely out of instinct before realizing what he was doing. 

It was a painful looking cut, Virgil could give it that. 

“Shit L, fuck...” Virgil muttered, quickly pulling the logical side away from the sink and towards the kitchen to sit down. “Shit, I’ll be right back.” He said in a way that was clearly telling the other side not to move, or else. Just from the look on Virgil’s face, he could tell that the other side wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Logan wasn’t stupid after all. 

Barely even glancing at Logan, Virgil was off. Rushing into the bathroom, he blindly scavenged for the first aid kit that was always in the bathroom per his own request. He had always made sure that every bathroom, even the ones in their own room had first aid kits in them. He had told the others over and over again that should something bad happen he needed to know that there was a first aid kit in there, they hadn’t had a chance yet to put one in the kitchen. The one place that statistically, most accidents happened in a home. Stupid.. Stupid. That should have been the first place that he had put one, that way he could have just grabbed it and helped Logan right then and there instead of just leaving him where.. Where…

There had been a lot of blood in Logan’s hand, and it was still bleeding. 

What if he bled out while Virgil was taking his time here?

“Come on… come on…” Virgil snarled to himself, digging through the messy underside of the sink cabinet even more frantically. “He’s not dying, he’s not. It’s just a cut, a cut that just needs to be sanitized and bandaged. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s…” Virgil seized the handle of the kit the moment he caught sight of it. “Gotcha!” 

Scrambling out of the bathroom, Virgil ran like a bat out of hell to get back to Logan.

By the time that he got to the logical side, Logan had unclenched his entire body as he stared down at his bleeding hand. His jaw was fixed firmly and his eyebrows furrowed, and from where he stood Virgil could practically feel the anger radiating from him like the heat from hot boiling water. Logan’s breathing was a practiced calmness, the way that it strategically rose and fell told Virgil that the other side was trying with everything he had to keep his temper under control. 

“I got the first aid kit Lo,” Slowly moving forward he knelt in front of the logical side, before unpacking everything inside. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”  

For a moment there wasn’t an answer, and Virgil mostly figured that Logan was just keeping quiet due to the pain he must’ve been feeling. 

And then Logan sniffed, making Virgil look up from sanitizing the long cut that ran along his palm. “It was my favorite cup… and now it's broken.”  An unreadable look passed over Logan’s face, and his fingers curled just barely brushing against Virgil’s as he passed the alcohol wipe over his hand once more. “I’m sorry…”  

Virgil hastily looked up towards Logan’s eyes, alarm squeezing his chest. “Sorry? Sorry for wha-” 

Before he even realized it, the words died on his tongue and a whole new feeling flooded through him. His lungs seized in that moment not allowing him to take a single breath, and his heart thudded against his ribcage like a terrified bird trying to get out. It took conscious effort for him to let his mouth hang open, or for him to not jerk his entire body away from the logical side like he had just been struck. 

The last little remnants of orange were fading from Logan’s eyes, the hellish orange fading into the sad warm brown color that Virgil knew so well.

What was happening? Was Logan being taken over? Was he turning into a dark side? Was he… was he splitting in half like Roman and Remus? Was he okay? Was he even Logan anymore? Was he hurt even more on the inside than he was on the outside?

A million thoughts and questions ran through his head, all of them coming to a shrieking halt as soon as he managed to force himself look back at Logan. A feeling of hurt shot through him at the inner betrayal he had felt towards Logan, especially considering that Logan’s eyes looked normal now… as if nothing had even happened.

Unburdened by Virgil’s inner treacherous thoughts Logan merely shrugged, obviously not noticing Virgil's insane reaction, or perhaps just not knowing the shade of color that his eyes had just been. “Sorry for inconveniencing you, I should have been more careful so that it wouldn’t have broken in the first place.” Logan looked away, as Virgil’s body finally began to relax. “And now here I am, a new injury and I made you worry and fret over nothing...I should have been more observant of what I was doing.”

Logan… thought that his reaction was from the broken cup?

And then Logan carried on. 

“I know that I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Logan explained, as Virgil slowly began wrapping his injured hand up in a layer of gauze. “Setting too high of expectations, and expecting any of them to go through. “I keep burdening all of you with my wants and wishes, and… getting a little upset when something else happens.” Something else flashed across Logan’s face, so quick that Virgil would have missed it had he not been looking for it. “I should know this all by now, what.. what’s going to happen when I just plan things... ” Logan waved his non-injured hand, gesturing to nothing. 

Virgil couldn’t help but to feel just a little bit sad over the resignation in Logan’s voice, surely… surely he wasn’t thinking about giving up on the whole schedule thing. Logan had worked hard on that, he’d worked countless nights to make it so that Thomas have even the slightest bit of possibility of getting it done. He had completely written out things that he would have liked Thomas to do, he had.. he had gotten rid of that astrology class that Thomas had promised him that he’d take. 

And yet… even after that he hadn’t been listened to, and…

Oh.

Oh...      

“Logan.” Virgil began cautiously, “Are you… angry with us?” 

There was a beat of silence, where Logan chewed on his bottom lip before looking away from the anxious side. His silence was the only answer that Virgil needed.

There it was, plain and bold for even him to see. 

It should have been obvious to him from the start, he was literally anxiety. He picked up on even the slightest hints if someone was angry with Thomas, he had even picked up Patton’s emotions as much as the moral side tried to hide them with his cheery happiness. And somehow he hadn’t managed to see Logan’s anger, hiding and being pushed down day by day by even the slightest things that they did. How often had they said something that made him angry at them? How often did he not know just what he was feeling towards them was anger? 

They had scorned him in such a way just for throwing a paper ball at Roman. 

This.. this kind of explained everything. 

“God I’m so stupid.” Virgil muttered, heavily sitting back with an exhausting exhale.  

Logan's head snapped back, a look of shock and mismatched emotions coloring his face. “No-”

Before he could even get another word out, Virgil shook his head, swatting the side of Logan’s leg. 

“Stooop!” Virgil groaned out, slapping his hand over his face. “I am! I am so stupid for not noticing. Of fucking course you’re angry at us Logan! You should be!” 

A pause and then: 

“What..?”

Peeking through his fingers Virgil saw Logan looking at him as if he was well and truly on his way to becoming insane, Virgil should have felt a little insulted from the look that he was receiving. But instead, he felt like he deserved it, if only for the reason that he was insane for having been so blind when it came to making sure Logan was okay. He had known that Logan needed help with his emotions, both in realizing that he was allowed to feel them, and just when they would be necessary. Of course, with all of their “help” Logan must’ve figured that any emotion that wasn’t positive should be shunned within himself and pushed down until he was convinced that it didn’t exist. 

He had been told he was allowed to be sad by Patton, but anger… 

They had never once allowed him to be angry. 

In some way, Virgil felt as if he had betrayed Logan. 

The glint of those bright orange eyes unconsciously reminded him of the other dark sides, how Janus’ one snake eye glowed a bright yellow, and how Remus’ eyes occasionally took on a toxic green color when he was up to no good. The orange couldn’t mean anything good, or even worse… if Logan thought that he no longer belonged amongst himself, Patton, and Roman. Then.. then what else was there? If Janus found out that they had basically chased Logan off, so that he was seeking solace with them… 

He’d never hear the end of it from him, a reverse Virgil he would call it. Virgil could just imagine it now…

But if that was what Logan would want… then who was Virgil to stop him? That would be hypocritical of him to even try, especially since it's common knowledge that he used to be one of them too.  He could at least try to make things better if Logan did try to leave, that way it wouldn’t just be out of the blue. This way at least he and Logan would still be alright, he could still protect Logan in this one way even if he did leave. 

Virgil knew that he’d have to force himself to not feel betrayed if Logan did leave. 

They’d done this to themselves after all. 

Nevertheless, he finally stood up and straightened his back.  After a long moment of consideration he finally looked into Logan’s eyes. “Logan.” He firmly said, “Logan, look at me.” The moment that the logical side finally did, Virgil nodded. “Anger isn’t anything bad,” He began, only shooting him a look when it seemed like Logan was going to interrupt. “It’s your brain’s way of trying to tell you that you deserve better, and that the way that someone is treating you is wrong. It's a self defense measure, and you’ve been ignoring it and letting us walk all over you. For years Logan.” 

Logan was silent, his brown eyes trained on Virgil’s face. He was finally listening, intensively. 

“Listen to it, if we don’t listen to you… listen to it.” Virgil got closer, gripping Logan’s shoulders as he did. “If we ignore and don’t listen to you when we should be… be angry. Let us know so that we will listen. Do whatever you have to, I won’t be angry. Because I’ll know that we deserved it, and we had it coming.” Virgil gave him the tiniest shake possible. “Raise hell.” 

The second time that Virgil sees the orange eyes, he supposes that it's no longer an accident. 

The uncertain look on Logan’s face slowly morphed into something else, as a burning look of determination and certainty finally sparked inside of him. 

Bright angry orange bled into the calm brown, completely overtaking it. 

“Okay.”

[brehaaorgana]

not a gotcha; any modern examples?

Stephen Colbert's satire of American Right Wing Conservative Talking Heads was so notable on The Daily Show that he literally got his own show dedicated entirely to his satirical character called The Colbert Report. If you want very mainstream modern satire, I think it's fair to look at The Colbert Report and the character of Stephen Colbert (as played by Stephen Colbert).

It's now a pretty old video but I still find it genuinely funny to watch Bill O'Reilly interview Stephen Colbert (fully in his Colbert Report Persona - also please ignore the last 15 seconds of that, YouTube was unhinged 16 years ago and i dont wanna find a new upload).

Actually another example of this satire/comedy character in action that is/was memorable to me is his Congressional Hearing testimony on Migrant Farm Labor. You can see his very Swiftian sense of humor:

As you’ve heard this morning, America’s farms are presently far too dependent on immigrant labor to pick our fruits and vegetables. Now, the obvious answer is for all of us to stop eating fruits and vegetables.

And the specific satire of conservative xenophobia and anti-latinx racism:

Now we all know there is a long tradition of great nations importing foreign workers to do their farm work. After all, it was the ancient Israelites who built the first food pyramids. But this is America. I don’t want a tomato picked by a Mexican. I want it picked by an American, then sliced by a Guatemalan, and served by a Venezuelan in a spa, where a Chilean gives me a Brazilian. Because my great-grandfather did not travel across 4,000 miles of the Atlantic ocean to see this country overrun by immigrants. He did it because he killed a man back in Ireland. That’s the rumor; I don’t know if that’s true, I’d like to have that stricken from the record.

This joke has a lot of layers and imo as a mexican-american is funny because he's a white dude pointing out the absurdity/hypocrisy and entitlement of white people's racism against latinos.

He's pointing out the flaws in arguments that suggest, say, "Mexicans are taking our jobs!" Or the objection to people doing undesirable work because they're immigrants, even though the people who object vocally are usually fully reliant on that labor, and expect and demand it. The punchline of this joke isn't exploited Latino labor, but rather, Colbert's admission that xenophobic white Americans are ultimately giant hypocrites about immigration.

And then this part:

...I reject this idea that farm work is among the semi-difficult jobs that Americans won’t do. Really? No Americans? I did. As part of my ongoing series, “Stephen Colbert’s Fallback Position,” where I try other jobs and realize that mine is way better. I participated in the UFW’s “Take Our Jobs” campaign, one of only 16 people in America to take up the challenge. Though that number may increase in the near future, as I understand many Democrats may be looking for work come November.

Now, I’ll admit – I started my workday with preconceived notions of migrant labor. But after working with these men and women, picking beans, packing corn, for hours on end, side by side in the unforgiving sun, I have to say – and I do mean this sincerely – please don’t make me do this again. It is really, really hard. 

Transcript - watch the video for his line delivery and other choice moments like "Now, I’m not a fan of the government doing anything. But I’ve gotta ask: Why isn’t the government doing anything?"

All of this is a wind up to a genuine point about protections for migrant workers.

Oh, and if you wanted a prime example of a combination of satire and a comedy roast (where you are mocking a particular person, to their face), then watch Stephen Colbert's 2006 White House Correspondents' Dinner speech where he spends almost a full 17 minutes satirizing neocons/republicans and roasting George W. Bush rather brutally.

It has great lines like:

I give people the truth, unfiltered by rational argument. I call it the "No Fact Zone." FOX News, I hold a copyright on that term.

And:

I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq.

Still, perhaps the most memorable line imo is this bit:

Most of all, I believe in this president. Now, I know there are some polls out there saying that this man has a 32% approval rating. But guys like us, we don't pay attention to the polls. We know that polls are just a collection of statistics that reflect what people are thinking in "reality." And reality has a well-known liberal bias.

Basically the comedy of this entire character relies on satire, and it's the most obvious and famous example I can think of.

what would you consider examples of good satire?

Eat babies, solve hunger.

[trashyswitch]

The Useless Hiding Place

Michael is hiding under the desk, trying to escape the animatronics that were after him. But that didn't really go as planned...

Michael was sitting under the desk, waiting for the animatronics to leave him alone. Evil beings, trying to disturb him while he worked…

The desk thing he was under, had a metal door crafted into it. He was currently trying to keep it closed.

But the animatronics kept peering through the holes in the metal, and kept opening up the doors. It was scary. Very scary.

“Hello in there…” Someone said…

‘Oh no...Please! Stay away! Get away from me!’ Michael was thinking to himself…

Michael waited patiently for the animatronics to leave…

And then:

“Someone is inside…” Someone said next.

Michael widened his eyes. Oh no…

Quickly, the door started to slide open! Michael bit his lip and tried to drag it back into place. NO! This is MY HIDING PLACE! BACK OFF!

The door stopped dragging outwards, and Michael pushed the door back over to the other side. Phew...that was close.

Little sounds and clangs could be heard…

Then the door started to slide open again! OH NO! Michael tried to hold onto it tightly, Come on, stupid door! STAY! STAY DAMN YOU!

The door stopped sliding open, and Michael was able to slide it back over. But quickly, the door started to slide open all over again! OH GOD! NOT AGAIN! Michael tried to hold onto the door as best he could, but it was still sliding open!

Come on! Slide back to the other side! Stay there, maybe?!

The door kept on sliding. He just couldn’t hold it! It was impossible! Next to impossible!

Then, something grabbed his foot!

“Gotcha~” The animatronic, whatever it was, yanked his foot out from under the desk and tried to pull him out more. But Michael was holding on tightly.

“What’s this?” another animatronic asked.

“A shoe.” The animatronic said. It sounded like it was talking to itself…

Michael covered his mouth and tried to keep his breathing under quiet control. He had a foot...He had his foot...But what was he gonna do with it?

He felt one of the shoelaces get pulled out of the bow on his shoe. Were they...taking the shoe off? Uuuuh...Why?

Before Michael could think about why, the shoe was pulled off his foot, revealing his socked foot.

“What is this?” One animatronic asked.

“Foot…” The other one said.

Wait a second...There were TWO OF THEM!?

“Oooh! Foot.” The animatronic said.

He knew the whole time they were talking about his foot…

“What should we do?” The animatronic asked.

Michael widened his eyes as he felt a finger poking his foot. It finally dawned onto him that the foot was gonna distract the animatronics for a while.

“Poke…poke…” The animatronic said as it poked the foot.

Michael, with a slight smile growing on him, looked through the gap on his right.

From what he could see, there were animatronic...babies? Touching his foot right now! Michael, as to not cause any issue, covered up his flashlight and switched it off quietly.

The blue eyes of the animatronics were able to be seen in the dark...in fact, they lit up! So considering Michael could see their eyes, it was obvious they were observing his foot.

It almost looked...toddler like! And...kinda cute?? If that’s the correct word for it???

But quickly, all thoughts blanked out the moment he felt scratching against the bottom of his foot. “Tickle tickle…” The animatronic whispered.

Oh no...OH NO...OH HELL NAW! Michael really badly wanted to pull his foot away. But if he did, it would alert them to his presence!

“The toes are wiggling…” Someone said.

‘Um...YEAH! CAUSE YOU’RE LITERALLY TICKLING MY FOOT!’ Michael thought.

One of the animatronics touched his toe. “Try up here.”

One hand winded up on the ide of his foot, while the other hand- OHGODNO-

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lip hard. They were tickling right under his big toe! It tickled so badly, and he couldn’t help himself: He squeezed his toes. His breathing was becoming hitched and shallow.

“The foot moves...” One of the animatronics said.

“My turn!” The other one said, pushing its animatronic friend out of the way and scratching its fat fingers under his foot.

Michael lost all his breath as quietly as he could possibly make it. It tickled like a son of a bitch! It felt like 2 tiny back scratchers were scratching at his foot!

“Tickle tickle…” The animatronic whispered.

“I hear him…” The other animatronic whispered.

Michael clamped down on his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut desperately. These evil tiny animatronics!

“Let’s tickle till he giggles.” one animatronic giggled.

Oh no...they weren’t gonna let him go…

“Let’s break him…” The other animatronic whispered.

Before Michael could do anything:

Two, I repeat TWO! pairs of hands, started tickling all over his poor foot.

Michael shook his head and silently lost all his breath again. And he just couldn’t get his breath back without snorting! And snorts make noise!

He had no idea how long of this he could take.

“Funny...They haven’t lost interest yet...what are you doing to make them interested?” Baby suddenly asked through the speaker.

Michael couldn’t breathe...he had to do something to breathe!

He finally breathed in, snorting in the process.

“It’s working...more more more!” The amimatronic told the other.

Suddenly, the tickling on his foot went faster and faster! Michael finally wheezed out loud. It was way too much for him to handle without making some sort of noise.

“What is happening?” Baby asked on the speaker.

Michael was giggling as quietly as he could with a huge grin on his face. It was so ticklish, so overwhelming, that he was struggling to even hold it in anymore. The laughter had broken free of his lungs, and was threatening to take control.

“Kitchy kitchy koo…” the animatronic said with a giggle.

“Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle.” the other animatronic said.

Michael started lightly pounding his hand into the ground. It was so light, yet so much for the poor man to handle!

But then: It all stopped!

All of it!

No tickles, no giggles, no whispering!

Just...silence.

Michael breathed silently and deeply, and started to try and pull his foot back over. But something was on his leg!

Wait! WAS THAT THE-

Michael let out a loud, high-pitched squeal as the 4 hands tickled his foot all over again.

“AAhaaaahahahaaaa!” Michael laughed, finally losing his composure.

“Success!” The animatronic said.

“Keep going!” The other animatronic said.

Michael finally broke. It took a long time, but the man finally broke open.

“I hear laughter...How peculiar…” She muttered.

“HEhehehehelp! Ihihihit’s sohohoho tihihicklihihish!” He begged.

“Nom on the toes.” One of the animatronics ordered.

“Nomming.” The other animatronic said.

Then the worst kind of torture started to take place: Toe nibbling and toe tickles! The animatronic was clamping up and down on the toes, almost fast enough to be considered nibbling, while the other animatronic tickled under his toes with its nubby fingers!

“AAAAhahahahaha! HAHAHAHAAA! NOT THERE! NOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!’ Michael laughed his head off.

“Bidlybabs. Come here.” Baby ordered.

The bidybabs, as they were called, stopped tickling and looked around.

“Baby.” the first one called.

“She calls.” the second one said.

“But human.” The first one mentioned.

“Don’t.” Baby warned.

Michael pulled his shoeless foot back into the hiding place and crawled out. But then:

The Bidybab jumped onto Michael’s chest and SCARED THE LIVING CRAP OUT OF MICHAEL!

The Bidybabs snuck under Michael’s shirt and started digging into Michael’s belly. Michael squealed and threw his head back, laughing. “NOHohohoho!” Michael lost his composure once again as his upper back hit the ground. “STAHAHahahahap!” Michael laughed.

“Disobedient minions!” Baby yelled.

Michael squealed and giggled all over the place. “IHIHIHIT’S FIHIHIHINE! THEHEHEY’RE JUHUHUST TIHIHICKLIHIHIHING MEHEHEHEHE!” He laughed heavily.

“I know.” Baby told him.

Baby ended up leaving the bidybabs to their own devices. They were meant to help kids calm down around the huge animatronics. But this was not a good method of calming them down. It was only doing the opposite effect!

However, Baby didn’t mind listening to the man’s echoing laughter. It reminded her of a younger, high-voiced Michael. It sounded very similar to his laugh when she was alive. And honestly, what’s wrong with a little tickling?